


Darlin', Rescue Me

by gray_zelle



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: F/F, a couple warnings later on but i'll give them at the beginning of chapters, i'm actually publishing something WHAT, if you ship olivia and jacques yeah uhhh you've come to the wrong place sorry, some of y'all bout to be real mad at me (but it must be said i guess???)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 04:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18439364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gray_zelle/pseuds/gray_zelle
Summary: Olivia is stuck in a village most foul, with Jacques as her only company - company she now can't stand. So she looks to be rescued, by sending telegrams to the secretary who's been on her mind for the past year.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> i had this idea i couldn't stop thinking about, so i wrote it, and it ended up being 13k words 'cause that's how i roll
> 
> also i have no idea how telegramming works and since i wrote this on the fly i might've done it wrong
> 
> by the way, if you ship Olivia x Jacques, that's fine by me; but this isn't really the story you're looking for, sorry, unless you like unrequited love

Today marked a year since they’d arrived here. 

 

Here being the middle of nowhere, in a town the size of a dust speck, both on maps and in reality. With nothing to see, and nothing to do. Waiting for something that would never happen. 

 

Where all Olivia wanted was to burn this place to the ground. 

 

Well, she didn’t always agree with arson. Not unless it was for an  _ extremely  _ good reason. Like as revenge, for burning down a library - if she could, she would travel back in time and give Julius Caesar what for, for the Library Of Alexandria.

 

Yet most of the time, she didn’t look to burn things to ashes. This little village, however, had been anything but nice to her. So it deserved to go. 

 

In the rocking chair she’d claimed, sitting near the tall living room window, Olivia closed her eyes. Visualising the Village’s demise. She saw a match falling to the floor in the living room around her, quickly transforming into a ball of orange that consumed the whole house. Then embers, orange, yellow, and even blue, flowered into flames that danced to, and stripped apart, the seventeen other houses. An enormous cloud of smoke wafted into the sky - higher than the murder of crows ever flew, and blacker than their falling feathers. Maybe, just maybe, that smoke would become a signal for her rescue. 

 

She heaved a sigh. The thought of being rescued sounded much too heavenly to her. 

 

“Thinking about the Library Of Alexandria again?” 

 

It was only Jacques, arriving for lunch. Not some dashing adventurer, with shining eyes that made Olivia’s heart thump harder. She didn’t look up, only nod. 

 

She heard a bucket being discarded on the table, which she told him to get rid of elsewhere. It moved, and she swore she heard him mutter something under his breath - prompting her into opening her eyes.

 

Jacques had taken his shirt off, though had the decency to hang it on the air dryer, and throw a rag beneath it to save the floor from sweat. Back turned to her, he rubbed his face; to the mirror hanging on one wall, he said, “I need a shave.” 

 

Olivia said nothing. It was hardly the opening for a conversation - and she didn’t have to bother initiating one. Jacques started another ramble, instead.

 

“That fence is fixed, and I painted it, too. And that lady wants her wall fixed, which I might look at this afternoon.” 

 

It was scarce, for a handyman story to be interesting. Olivia tried to block him out, though gave an “Mm-hm” to keep him unbothered. 

 

Now, the fridge opened. “What’s for lunch?”

 

“Sandwiches.” 

 

“We had those yesterday.” 

 

“Don’t complain.” 

 

Because it was Jacques’s fault they were stuck out here. Waiting to continue a mission she was certain his organisation had canned.

 

Olivia finally got up, deciding to make lunch for them - she’d  _ just  _ finished all the housework, after all, and didn’t need jam on the ceiling again. Jacques stepped back when she pushed past him, definitely bemused, though she didn’t bite. Arguing with Jacques did help her blow off steam, but it wasn’t healthy to constantly feel bitter and cynical. 

 

“Can I help?” 

 

“Set the table.” 

 

After he hesitated, he asked, “Is there something wrong, Olivia?” 

 

“Oh, it’s nothing new.” If he were as intelligent as he tried to seem, he’d know what had her so irritated (aside from him). 

 

He took a step away from the kitchen counter - after noticing Olivia forcefully buttering bread. At least, she decided, he was smart enough to try and back out of situations. 

 

“Is it…” 

 

Olivia took that back. 

 

Looking up to the slight fear on his face, she asked, “What? Is it what?” 

 

“Is it… you know…” 

 

“Can you be more specific?” 

 

His “Never mind” told her he was making  _ quite  _ the reference. 

 

“No. It’s not what you’re thinking. Grow up and set the table.” She finished one sandwich and thrust its plate at him. 

 

They started lunch in silence, at a hardly dressed-up table, and Olivia sure hoped Jacques would say nothing more. It was quiet enough that, with the window open, she could hear Ruth from next door talking to herself. The bell in the village square tolled, swaying in the unusual breeze. Olivia wondered, for a fleeting moment, if that could be a literal wind of change - a sign that things would suddenly get better. 

 

They had to, after a whole  _ year  _ of her housewife masquerade, in this dowdy town, where nothing had ever, or ever would happen. 

 

And, if they didn’t, just what had Olivia done to deserve this? 

 

“Is there something else on your mind?” 

 

Murder. Murder was now on her mind. Trust Jacques to disturb sublime peace with his constant need to talk! 

 

She finally looked to him, prying her eyes from the boundless plains outside the window. “It’s fine.” 

  
“Are you sure?” he pressed. Making her wish he’d  _ stop  _ playing the gentle card - one he could barely deal.

 

“Yes. I am. Are you finished lunch?” 

 

He handed her his plate, before getting up, to find another shirt in the bedroom. Olivia tossed their plates in the sink and turned, surveying the living room and kitchen for a moment, wondering if there was anything she’d forgotten to clean. Because now, it was back to business for both of them; something she was immensely thankful for. 

 

Jacques passed through while she dusted the window towards Ruth’s. Retrieving his hat from the rack, he said, “I’m checking that wall. And I’ll ask about the Baudelaires again.” 

 

The Baudelaires. Just as practically nonexistent as Olaf had become. Olivia managed to keep from snapping about that.

 

“I’ll wait here,” she replied - as more of a reiteration of what her life was now full of.

 

“What about the knitting group?” 

 

She’d been expecting him to mention that, too. “Go fix the wall.” 

 

From the corner of her eye, she watched him gaze at her for another moment, before fixing his hat and finally, leaving. With the air of a man trying to save his crumbling marriage. 

 

Olivia gave him no more attention, not even thinking about him. As his footsteps on the dirt faded, she took another look around the kitchen and living room. 

 

It was quite the coincidence a house had gone up for sale a mere day before they’d arrived, looking for both Olaf and the Baudelaires. They’d waited a day, holing up in the saloon, anticipating the villain to arrive any minute. When he didn’t show up, they waited another, before Jacques presented the Village Elders with money he’d conjured from nowhere. Thus, making this house their waiting spot.

 

Olaf had never arrived. 

 

Whatever shortcut he’d taken had turned out far from it. His disappearance wasn’t significant enough for the _ Daily Punctilio _ , which had become Olivia’s only news source, and, say, allowed reading material. And it had never spared a thought for the Baudelaires, or Quagmires, who as far as anyone was concerned, had vanished without a trace. Though it really didn’t seem like anyone was too concerned - or Olivia would like to think they’d be safe by now.

 

Olivia had been concerned. Jacques; maybe so, maybe not. But as the weeks had passed, and the  _ Daily Punctilio _ helped the world forget about them, Olivia had figured the children’s acumen had found them a safe place. At least, she hoped. Even when she would never know for sure. 

 

She wouldn’t, whilst Jacques was still certain Olaf would arrive, and the Baudelaires would reappear, and make everyone’s lives much more interesting. Thus, Jacques had decided they wouldn’t leave.

 

So Olivia was confined to housewifery. The place was only small, yet felt enormous when she set about cleaning it each morning. Just for something to do, she always did more than necessary - so unless a dust storm came through, or Jacques tracked dirt in when returning, the place shone brighter than the lights in Olivia’s daydream library.

 

It was a place she visited often, whilst in her rocking chair. Because it wasn’t like the village approved of literature, like any other sane community. And it seemed the old woman who had owned the house before had more “interesting” things to read into. 

 

The bookshelf across from the rocking chair was filled with moleskin journals the old woman left behind, upon dying. (Which seemed like the only way anyone left this place.) Olivia had skimmed through them all, finding pages filled with village gossip - all the same stories, every day, just with different names stated each entry. It was hardly satisfying reading material. 

 

In the midst of them all were a few blank ones - these, Olivia claimed, and poured her soul into. She wrote everything that crossed her mind; recounts of the days going by, fears for the children, Jacques’s increasingly irritating presence. And things he didn’t know about, and she wanted to keep secret.

 

Stories.

 

Stories upon stories, about only one thing - escaping. 

 

She’d ran inkwells dry, writing frivolously about it. In different settings, with herself dressed up as several characters, all named The Heroine. And always with the same love interest. 

 

Returning to her chair, Olivia retrieved her latest journal; she’d written to the middle stitch, the exact halfway point, in handwriting difficult to decipher. The thing was brown, a favourite colour around here, its leather as fake as fake could get. 

 

Just like all the others, it held a story Olivia would do anything to experience herself; where a divine, strong woman took her in the night, and carried her to a mechanical chariot, where they plunged into the darkness and towards the dawn. 

 

Leaning back slightly, she closed her eyes, feeling herself smile as she pictured her once more. 

 

With hair a sandy blonde colour, lips as red as blood, and her eyes as sharp and grey as steel weaponry. 

 

She had an air about her that told Olivia many things. One, for certain, that she fancied women, too. Olivia had seen it in her eyes, in the brief moment they’d spoken - one she now wished had lasted longer. The second was that, though she’d seemed immensely courageous at the Auction, she was equally as gentle with those she loved. And, third, that she seemed just as interested in Olivia, as she was in her. Just by the way she’d seemed… interested in her. It was hard to explain, though had been immensely easy to see, and feel. 

 

And it was strange, to think how quickly they’d grown to fancy one another (Olivia hoped), though they didn’t know each other’s names. 

 

It disheartened her, remembering that. Olivia had tried to place a name to her, in all the names Jacques had briefly mentioned. In her stories, she’d become The Divine Dame, or Duchess in Duchess-themed stories, since Olivia didn’t know what name would suit her. Something strong. Something sweet. 

 

Something, she decided, she needed to find out. 

  
Because, in a mere moment, she’d realised she couldn’t sit and wait for her to remember her, and rescue her. If anything, Olivia had to make her remember. And then, at least  _ ask  _ her to rescue her.


	2. Two

“Jacques?” 

 

He looked up from the dinner Olivia had prepared (she didn’t need more potato on the ceiling, either, so Jacques was banned from cooking). “Yes?” 

 

Olivia ended up hesitating. Asking Jacques questions wasn’t something she did anymore. Not just because she could barely stand him talking, but since there was nothing to discuss, or find out.

 

Yet she found enough confidence.

 

“Your associate from Mulctuary Money Management. What was her name again?” 

 

“Jacquelyn,” he said, with a half smile, obviously reminiscing. “Jacquelyn Scieszka.” 

 

He spelled her name out for her and everything. 

 

Thus, Olivia embarked on the drive to the Last Chance General Store, to put that name to good use. 

 

On her mind were two things: reaching Jacquelyn, and the unpleasant exchange she’d just had with a Village Elder. Since she and Jacques had the taxi, said Elder had figured to give Olivia a shopping list, after somehow learning about her venture. (Or just noticing her prepping the taxi.) 

 

It was at first, quite bemusing that the Elder had even  _ thought  _ to talk to her. Since scarce few words had been spoken to her, by the entire Village, since she and Jacques arrived. Everyone seemed to like Jacques, or were desperate for his offered handyman work, though all Olivia had ever received were strange stares and hushed whispers. 

 

After a few weeks observing them, and their fondness for their dowdy housewife lives, Olivia figured she was just too “wild” for the other women. Since she was career-oriented (as much as she could be, right now), and did whatever she pleased, and didn’t wait on Jacques’s every beck and call.

 

It was somewhat disheartening, dwelling on the Village’s backwards ways. And disturbing, too. Soon while driving, with nothing interesting either side of the taxi, Olivia was wondering why she hadn’t been burned at the stake yet.

 

This daydreaming lead her to speeding, so she eventually released the pressure on the clutch. The taxi gave a disappointed groan, she knowing that all it wanted was a long trip to absolutely anywhere. She’d love to give it just that, and even more - a drive where the Village ended up off the map, too far to bother returning to. Yet there was one problem - Jacques. And, if he wouldn’t leave their mission, him being stranded in the village. 

 

Or did he deserve it, for stranding her there for all this time?

 

Soon Olivia could see that slanting building on the horizon. And then found herself in the midst of the strangest things, fishing for the telegram machine. 

 

“Don’t you have one of those back in the Village?” the store owner asked. 

 

“It broke, ages ago,” Olivia called from behind a fully stocked shelf. She’d made a fool of herself trying to shake it into working this morning. Then, she had an idea. One that might not work out, but she was happy to decide,  _ What the heck _ . “Do you have telegram machine manuals?” 

 

“Yeah, over near the pocket watches.” 

 

With one under her arm, she then made it to the store’s machine. From her satchel she retrieved a fresh, new notebook, with Jacquelyn’s name written on the first page. All for a good reason. 

 

She then prepped the machine, before taking a deep breath, and deciding, this was the only way to ensure her rescue.

 

_ MULCTUARY MONEY MANAGEMENT (STOP) _ _   
_ _ ATT. - JACQUELYN SCIESZKA, ORPHAN AFFAIRS (STOP) _

 

_ Jacquelyn (STOP). I know this may be the strangest message you’ve received in a while, but I’m getting desperate (STOP). There’s been no sign of Olaf or the Baudelaires, but your friend Jacques has insisted on staying in the Village until they arrive (STOP). It’s never going to happen (STOP). He’s gone (STOP). And I’m ready to move on, but there’s no way I can leave (STOP). So I thought I would give this a try, and see if you could help me (STOP).  _

 

_ You might not remember me (STOP). I’m the woman with glasses, with her hair in a bun, and the huge book, who stopped in at your office a year ago (STOP). My name is Olivia, Olivia Caliban (STOP). And if you can rescue me, I’d do anything to repay you (STOP).  _

 

All Olivia hoped was that, for a start, the message had gone through. And that the two of them could go from there. 

 

“You typin’ a telegram or a love letter over there?” the owner asked. 

 

Olivia wondered if it were both. 

 

The buzz sending the message gave her followed her back to the Village. It was like a surge of electricity, that made Olivia feel much better about everything - to where the idea of things getting better neared closer and closer. 

 

She almost forgot her Village-centric woes altogether, until she arrived back at the house, finding the Elder waiting outside. 

 

Olivia got out, struggling to make eye contact with her. The Elder’s heated glare could kill the crow perched on her head. 

 

“Well, where are the things on my list?” 

 

Looking to it again, Olivia wondered if she could lie. “They didn’t have any porcelain cats today, sorry.” 

 

“That’s ridiculous. They  _ always  _ keep the cats stocked. No matter what time of year, no matter what’s going on in the world. And what about my buttercreams?” 

 

“There were none of them, either.” Which wasn’t a lie. 

 

The Elder shook her head so fast, the crow threatened to fly away. (Olivia at least wished it could still do that.) “You have the transport, and you’re a newcomer, so  _ you  _ bring back supplies that we, especially Elders, ask for. You do what we say around here, young lady.” 

 

“I will, in future.” 

 

“And you best keep your word, Mrs Snicket.” 

 

It took a lot to keep from correcting her, with an acid tongue. 

 

Olivia thought this would be over, until Jacques arrived home that evening, clearly looking to discuss something with her. She tried to avoid him, not wanting to talk about anything, really (like usual), but couldn’t escape him at the dinner table. 

 

It really was like they were a couple in a crumbling marriage. 

 

“I had one of the Elders come and find me today.” 

 

Olivia said nothing, paying too much attention to buttering her bread. 

 

“She said she wasn’t impressed. That it shouldn’t be hard to follow a simple order. And that I should keep a better eye on you.” 

 

“A better eye on me?” Olivia retorted, making him jump. “Does she think I’m your slave?” 

 

He really shouldn’t have said that. She couldn’t decide who to present her knife to first, it riled her up that far. 

 

“I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding-” 

 

“There was. In a way. The store didn’t have what she wanted, so I couldn’t exactly give her the things, if that was the case. Am I correct?” 

 

Plus it had been hard to think of much else, with Jacquelyn now on her mind more than ever. 

 

After a pause, he said, “She told me to be a better husband.” 

 

Jacques wasn’t Olivia’s husband. He never had been, and never would be, if she could help it. 

 

“If only she knew.” 

 

He said nothing more, finally, and Olivia wasted no time leaving for the bedroom. 

 

One good thing about this house was there were two single beds. It kept unwanted gestures at bay - the kind of gestures she’d been dreading when they initially moved in. 

 

Some time ago, Olivia had built a partition between the two beds, with an old shower curtain. She’d said it was for when she changed (she wasn’t giving him  _ any  _ chances), though its real intended purpose was to give herself some luxury, by hiding Jacques from her.

 

So she shoved the curtain across. 

 

He came up to the room maybe fifteen minutes later, saying something about being tired, though Olivia blocked him out once more. Her writing - a draft of a possible second message to Jacquelyn - was much more important. 

 

But later, she heard, “Olivia?” 

 

“...Yes?” 

 

“Is everything alright?”

 

Oh, for goodness sake. “You asked that yesterday.” 

 

“Is there a limit to how often I can ask that?” 

 

“I’m fine.” 

 

As fine as she could be, she decided, while waiting for Jacquelyn to reply. 

 

He paused, hopefully thinking it was best to shut up- 

 

“You can tell me if something’s wrong.” 

 

He couldn’t quit annoying her, could he?!

 

“Go to bed if you’re that tired,” she snapped, switching off her lamp. “‘Night.” 

 

“You once said goodnight-” 

 

“Go to bed.” 

 

He finally quietened down. Olivia bunched up her covers, looking to the moonlight falling through the window. 

 

And wishing she could wake, at midnight, to Jacquelyn standing there. With a smile on her lips, which meant one thing: “Come with me.” 

 

What Olivia wouldn’t do to make that happen, she didn’t know. 


	3. Three

“There’s someone on the telephone for you, Mrs Snicket,” a younger man said when Olivia opened the front door. “Someone from the General Store. Got a message for you about a message.” 

 

Olivia practically shoved him aside, making her way to the gas station, her heart thumping in her ears.

 

She couldn’t believe it. Not at all. Was she dreaming?- No, the secret pinch she gave herself said no. So, her heart’s pace quickened. 

 

It almost stopped completely when the store owner explained. 

 

“Not all the message to this Jacquelyn lady went through,” he said. “Maybe just the first part. Maybe the second. I think there was a problem on our end.” 

 

Oh. Oh, goodness. 

 

So Jacquelyn had received part of it, yet still, possibly, didn’t know Olivia’s name.  _ Drat _ . 

 

“Sorry about that,” he went on. “Have you fixed your Village machine yet?” 

 

It took a few hours. Villagers came and went, to and from the gas station; all watching her work like she was absolutely insane for trying to fix the machine. One old man, who had never spoken to her, came and told her everyone just used the General Store’s machine. 

 

But Olivia wasn’t about to give up. Not with what was at stake. 

 

The manual made everything clear enough, though she still felt like she had no idea what she was doing. Once or twice, she thought of finding Jacques to ask for help, but decided it was better to keep him out of the loop. Anyway, as she worked, things slowly became easier to manage. 

 

To where the machine sat, working like almost brand new, before her. 

 

Olivia couldn’t wipe the grin from her face. It felt amazing, the sense of achievement this gifted her; sure, she’d finished stories and sewed things whilst she was here, but this was different. This was new. This was surely a sign Olivia was meant to be doing more with her life, than staying here for another eternity.

 

She tested it with the man from the General Store. It worked perfectly. So, she dared to make a message go further. 

 

_ MULCTUARY MONEY MANAGEMENT (STOP) _ _  
_ _ ATT. - JACQUELYN SCIESZKA, ORPHAN AFFAIRS (STOP) _

 

_ Hi Jacquelyn, it’s me again, me being Olivia, Olivia Caliban (STOP). You only received half of my message, so I’ll keep this one short (STOP). Like I said, I’d love to leave the Village, and now I’m getting desperate, so if you can help me, I would owe you everything (STOP). Olivia (STOP).  _

 

This one  _ had  _ to go through. It had to. If not, she wasn’t sure what she’d done to deserve this. 

 

And if the universe was treating her this way because of how she treated Jacques, well, they’d have to have a few words. 

 

Just like that, Jacques passed the gas station, a ladder over his shoulder, that made his hat sit crooked. Sweat covered his whole shirt, making Olivia shudder - how could men simply put up with that?

 

She ended up ordering a milkshake (they only had vanilla), as a victory treat. Or a here’s-hoping-this-works kind of treat. Which was her mistake; when he next walked past, Jacques noticed her. He gave her a charming smile, and a wave. 

 

The presence of the gas station-working lady kept her from groaning, and wanting to hide herself, or even ignore him. She waved back, regretting doing so. 

 

“Nice husband you have there,” the gas station lady commented. 

 

Oh, if only she knew. 

 

Just so she wouldn’t have to see him outside of lunchtime and dinner, Olivia returned to the house. She resumed her cleaning, then cleaned again for the hell of it, and went over her second drafted message. Then she found herself spacing out for who knew how long, drawing little hearts all over the next journal page, while she envisioned Jacquelyn before her.

 

She daydreamed of Jacquelyn somehow, instantly arriving, shoving open the door and sweeping her off her feet. It was an amazing thought, and Jacquelyn herself would look amazing - the sunlight coming through the window would turn her hair gold, and make her eyes shine brighter than anything. 

 

So the knock on the door took her by surprise.

 

The gas station lady was clutching a telegram; Olivia took it from her, feeling that electric surge of excitement again. 

 

“Thank you-” 

 

“You fixed the machine,” the gas station lady said. “You’ve only got yourself to thank. And thank you for that, by the way.”

 

Upon her departure, Olivia hurried up to the bedroom, the telegram to her chest. And up on her bed, she finally read it. 

 

_ VILLAGE OF FOWL DEVOTEES GAS STATION _ _  
_ _ ATTN. - OLIVIA CALIBAN _

 

_ Olivia (STOP). I’ve been wondering where you and Jacques went for the past year (STOP). There’s so many things I need to tell you, but first, I know being stuck out there must be testing (STOP). Jacques can be, let’s say, insensitive when he wants to be, if we’re staying professional (STOP). But I’m doing everything I can - I’ve got things to sort out first, but then, I’ll come for a drive to the Hinterlands (STOP). Let’s keep in touch (STOP). Keep telegramming if it makes the wait bearable (STOP). Just hold on for me, Olivia (STOP).  _

 

Now, she heaved a sigh - one full of relief, of apprehension, and importantly, love.  _ Love _ . She was certain of it. 

 

Olivia now looked around her side of the bedroom, wondering just what she should do first. Should she slowly start packing her things? Should she start writing a series of telegrams to send? Or should she give this room another clean? 

 

She ended up cleaning. Again. Just in case she was being too desperate here. 

 

Only when she heard Jacques arrive did she stop, and travel back downstairs. And she immediately wanted to groan again.

 

“I was given these,” he said, holding a bunch of flowers - while he looked like he’d rolled through their garden bed. “So I figured I’d give them to you.” 

 

Oh, goodness. Badness, in a way. What was Olivia supposed to say to this? ‘ _ That’s all well and good, but I’ve been fancying your friend Jacquelyn for a whole year, now’ _ ?

 

What hurt her more was the smile on his face. One mixed with his egotistical charm, that he couldn’t shake for the life of him, but with a look that hinted his want for her heart.

 

He then faltered. “Olivia?” 

 

“I- Thanks. Thank you.” 

 

The flowers ended up on the window sill above the kitchen sink, where their shadow fell over the floor. Olivia decided to pretend they were from someone else, instead. 

 

“Did you see me this morning?” 

 

Oh, yes. Always with the  _ Me, me, me _ . Olivia turned to him, glad she’d managed to wish him out of her mind for a moment. 

 

“I did.” 

 

“That was an interesting job. There was a nest of crow eggs up on that roof; I found them when I climbed up there. I almost stepped on them.” 

 

Oh, how  _ interesting.  _ Olivia just hoped he wouldn’t complain about the sandwiches she was preparing, or she didn’t know what she’d do to him. 

 

“But I have another large job lined up. I told the guy I’d be asking for more than usual, but he’s happy to pay. So I’m happy.” He looked up from wringing his shirt into a bucket. “Have you been to the knitting group?” 

 

“No.” 

 

He joined her at the table. “At least give it a chance, Olivia. You might find you have more in common with the other women than you think.”

 

Olivia had nothing in common with them. Okay, she didn’t know that for sure, but was in no hurry to find out - not when the entire village’s women would hardly look her in the eye. (Aside from the gas station lady.)

 

“I don’t like knitting. I like sewing.” 

 

“You might find knitting interesting.”

 

“Maybe, but I’m not about to try it.” 

 

His sigh was a small one - to keep him from getting into too much trouble. “But you’re sitting in here alone, Olivia.” 

 

Here came that fake caring nonsense again. 

 

“Don’t you get tired of it after while? Or bored, or lonely?” 

 

Olivia felt all of those feelings on a daily basis, but that wasn’t any of his business. It was just part of being stuck out here. 

 

“I’m fine.” 

 

“I don’t think you are.” 

 

“I am. So don’t worry about me.” 

 

Looking up was, again, a mistake - she caught that softness in his eyes, that she struggled to consider genuine. It was more like,  _ You’re making me feel upset, and I feel upset about that, not you. _

 

“Don’t worry about me, Jacques,” she tartly stated. 

 

“I think I’m going to anyway,” he replied. Like that was meant to charm her off her feet. 

 

Instead, it make her think, “Someone help me.” 


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> note: Jacques is drunk and he gets slightly aggressive, so you guys know

_ MULCTUARY MONEY MANAGEMENT _

_ ATTN. - JACQUELYN SCIESZKA, ORPHAN AFFAIRS _

 

_ Thank you so much for offering me your ear (well, your eyes and telegram machine), since I’m going to need it. I think I’m too excited to have someone to talk to after so long. I wish I could start by talking about something a little more interesting, but: I was wondering if you could give me some advice. Since you’re Jacques’s friend, I figured you would know how to help me.  _

 

_ How do I shake him? _

 

_ Not physically. He’s been trying to charm me romantically, and I’m not interested, and you can probably understand why. So is there any way I can tell him to look elsewhere, without breaking his heart, if it’s possible? We’re kind of living together, so I don't want to end up further into nowhere. Thanks in advance.  _

 

Olivia reread her draft, knowing sending this one could result in so many situations. Most of those her mind had conjured could be summed up as one thing: train wrecks. 

 

She didn’t know how close Jacquelyn and Jacques were, thus had no idea if she would reply with sympathy, maybe empathy, or even with aggression. Jacques hadn’t said much about her, or any of his associates, for that matter - which was no help. Keeping her in the dark about them had seemed rude, but filling her in would require him to talk. And she would pass on that. 

 

So it was probably best to rip this one from her journal, and, she didn’t know, burn it. Maybe burn it in the oven with the chicken meant for dinner. 

 

She ended up waiting well past sundown for Jacques. The serving on his plate went stone cold; Olivia didn’t bother placing it it back in the oven, when he was a capable grown man. Eventually, she left the kitchen table, making for her rocking chair; there, she looked to the sun dying on the horizon, wanting nothing more than to see Jacquelyn appear in the distance. Maybe in a black Cadillac. Maybe a motorcycle. At least, some steed that would take them both far from here, and everything Olivia no longer wished to know- 

 

“I’m home!” 

 

He announced that much too enthusiastically. Olivia turned to see him stumble through the door, and make for the table, forcing anger to consume her. 

 

“You’re drunk? You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

 

He didn’t look up from his dinner, or even complain about it being cold. “Who’s asking?” 

 

“I  _ know  _ you’re drunk. And I can’t believe you.” 

 

“Actually, I’m not hungry.” He got up, tossing the entire plate out the kitchen window. 

 

“ _ Jacques _ !” 

 

He turned around. “What?” 

 

“Stop acting so immature, and go up to bed. This instant.” 

 

“You’re not the boss of me.” 

 

If they  _ were  _ married, perhaps Olivia would have that level of control. Trying to fake it, she grabbed his wrist, attempting to yank him up the stairs. He followed, stumbling, hardly staying upright. 

 

“You should hold my hand more.” 

 

It took a lot to keep from snapping his wrist. “I don’t want to.” 

 

He stopped, at the top of the stairs. Olivia turned to see his bloodshot eyes trying, and failing, to hold a forlorn look inside them. 

 

“Why not?” 

 

“Because I’m free to do whatever I want. That’s why. No one tells me what to do. And no one ever will, as far as I’m concerned.”

 

She felt immense strength, even power, after declaring that. Had she not been so irritated, she would have smiled. 

 

“You don’t like me, do you?” 

 

Her want to smile disappeared.

 

Oh, if only he knew. If only she could tell him, to his face, just how uninterested she was. And how she could barely stand him, for that matter. Or how much she’d give to leave this house, this town, and him.

 

Though it was tempting to, in that moment, Olivia couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t possibly tell him, with the state he was in; there was every chance he get much too upset, or aggressive, for her to handle. And she couldn’t have him try to hurt her. In such an instance, she wouldn’t know what to do.

 

“Go to bed. Now.” 

 

“You don’t like me.” 

 

He seemed shocked. Confused. Bemused. Like he wanted, even deserved, an explanation.

 

Heaving a sigh, Olivia managed to pull him into bed, and then duck through the curtain, shoving it across. 

 

“Can we talk about this?” 

 

“No. Later. Go to sleep.” 

 

Olivia switched off her lamp, plunging the room into darkness that seemed much too eerie. She kept her eyes to the curtain for a moment, with the sudden thought -  _ What will he do? -  _ crossing her mind. 

 

He’d never done this before. He’d gotten along with the villager men, yes, but never enough to go and enter the saloon with them. Meaning, she didn’t know how he acted while drunk; and leaving her with no idea on what could happen tonight. Part of her said he wouldn’t just go down quietly. He couldn’t even do that while sober.

 

“Olivia?” 

 

She ignored him, slipping into bed as quietly as possible, bunching up the covers. And wishing she was elsewhere - preferably with Jacquelyn beside her. 

 

The curtain moved; she turned to find his head through it, his eyes wide, like he’d been possessed by more than alcohol. 

 

“Olivia. What have I done wrong?” 

 

“I’m not in the mood.” 

 

“What’s wrong, then?” 

 

“Nothing. I’m fine.” 

 

“You’re never fine, Olivia,” he said, a darkness in his tone she hadn’t heard for an age. It was one he’d reserved for do-badders, or people he had problems with. It made Olivia’s heart race.

 

“Get back on your side of the room!” 

 

“My side of the room? Just as I thought. This-” he gave the curtain a single shake - “Is to keep me out, isn’t it?” 

 

“What did I just say?” 

 

“You’re always keeping me out. Literally. Figuratively. Why won’t you tell me anything?” 

 

“You’re being aggressive about it. That’s why. And I’m not talking to you while you’re acting like this.” Sick of arguing, and seeing his face, Olivia got up; she shoved him back, then closed the curtain. “Get out of my presence, and don’t talk to me.” 

 

She watched him linger for a minute more, before something might have told him how horrible he’d been. Only then did he return to bed. 

 

Crossing the floor, and wondering just what she was meant to do now, Olivia found her  _ Jacquelyn  _ journal. Her heart and mind were weighed down by troubling feelings, that made her certain of only one thing: she really  _ was  _ desperate to leave this place. 

 

_ MULCTUARY MONEY MANAGEMENT _ _   
_ _ ATTN. - JACQUELYN SCIESZKA, ORPHAN AFFAIRS _

 

_ I’m sorry I’m sending this, but I have way too much on my chest right now. So I figured I’d try and put it into words, so you at least know that this hasn’t been easy. Jacques got drunk tonight, and I initially thought he’d try more advances, yet we argued, and now I’m sure he knows I don’t like him. I’m sorry, Jacquelyn, but I don’t think I could try to like him - not even a fraction. He was interesting enough at first, being a dashing, mysterious spy, but I suppose his immature streak is more like a canyon. I just don’t know what it is; he thinks himself the most charming, successful spy in the world, and that he deserves all the glory and love a wife could give him. Maybe there’s a woman out there who sees the charm in him, but I don’t. All I now see is someone too blind to realise the world forgot the mission that brought us here. He refuses to accept Olaf and the Baudelaires are gone. He insists we stay.  _

 

_ I can’t stay here much longer, Jacquelyn. This village has rules that make it worse than the middle ages. We can’t read here; it’s torn me apart from day one. The townspeople don’t like me, and Jacques expects me to get along with them - how am I meant to find common ground with people who give me strange looks, and keep me from talking? And, worse, call me Mrs Snicket?  _

 

_ I’m sorry, Jacquelyn, but I could never be Jacques’s wife.  _

 

_ I want more than him. He’s not even half of the woman I’m wishing for. I’m holding out for a woman who will take me places I could hardly dream of, take me to libraries I haven’t visited, and give me books I haven’t read - books she’s already written my name inside. A woman who won’t leave me stuck in a house I clean every day, with nothing to do. A woman who will try to bring me wherever she goes, unless it’s a place I’m not interested in, like a bar, or, I don’t know. Anywhere sounds interesting at this point.  _

 

_ A woman who actually cares about me, and isn’t pretending to care about me so I’ll magically fall in love with her. A woman who’ll listen to me talk about anything, but then talk about her own interests - and spare me from arrogance. A woman who thinks of more than just herself.  _

 

_ I sound astoundingly desperate. But I am desperate. I’m more of a damsel in distress than I’d like to admit. If you could rescue me, as soon as you can, I don’t know what I’d do, Jacquelyn.  _

 

_ I suppose all I want to know is if you’ll still rescue me.  _

 

Tears had fallen down her cheeks. Olivia didn’t know if she felt better or worse - or, even, what she felt at that moment. 

 

She sat with her back to the wall, next to the window, where the moon lit up her ink on the pages. Blue ink - just as blue as she supposed she felt. And had felt for goodness knew how long. 

 

By some miracle, Jacques hadn’t moved. So, Olivia was alone once more; too alone for her liking. 

 

Just to try and lift her spirits, she imagined Jacquelyn beside her, a hand on her thigh. Telling her things would be alright - in the softest murmur, as gently as she could possibly be. To a level Jacques could never reach. 

 

And giving Olivia the chance to tell her, “I do want a woman, but only one in particular. If you’ll have me, Jacquelyn, I’m wishing for you.”  


	5. Five

Jacques took longer to surface the next morning. Olivia let him be - he was old enough to look after himself. She made toast, not waiting for him, for once, before setting about cleaning the house. 

 

She really did go overboard with cleaning. Her reflection already greeted her in the kitchen countertop, and a vigorous, elbow-grease-filled wipe made it no clearer. The floor always did need sweeping, but maybe not thrice a day. Perhaps that was too far. 

 

Eventually, while dusting every journal in the bookshelf, she heard Jacques come down the stairs. He muttered something, like a hardly intelligent brute (which he often was), before making for the kitchen. 

 

“Clean up any mess you make over there,” she said. Possibly too harshly, but last night still had her upset.

 

“Did you clean here?” 

 

“I did. So keep it spotless.” 

 

“Harsh.” 

 

Turning around, Olivia retorted, “I’m not being harsh.” 

 

From where he was standing in the fridge doorway, letting out all the cold air, Jacques argued, “Yes, you are.” (He was shirtless, too, but Olivia was far from impressed.) 

 

“Grow up, Jacques.” 

 

“Stop being so cruel.” 

 

Shoving journals back into the shelf, she sighed, “I’m not arguing with you. Have breakfast, sober up, and get to that big job you mentioned.” 

 

“So you want me to leave?” 

 

“Isn’t that job important?” 

 

“Yes, but you want me to- Are those  _ books _ ?” 

 

As he crossed the floor, eyes on the shelf, Olivia said, “They’re journals. There’s a massive difference.” 

 

“We can’t be in trouble with the council, Olivia.” 

 

“They’re not books. So it’s fine. Now, will you go and get ready?” 

 

She tried to push him back towards the kitchen, but he wouldn’t budge; only look to the abundance of leather covers, and all the boring tales inside them. It was like he was struggling to think of what to do. 

 

“We should get rid of them, anyway.” 

 

“Leave them alone, Jacques. They’re not ours. We shouldn’t disturb them.” 

 

“Or the old woman’s ghost will haunt us? You don’t believe in that sort of thing, do you?” 

 

“I do,” she snapped, finally pushing him away. “Ghosts are real. And I might become one, if we don’t leave these alone.” 

 

Or if Jacquelyn never arrived. 

 

About fifteen minutes later, Jacques came back down the stairs, dressed for the day. Olivia paid little attention to him, and eyed her claimed journals, on the bottom shelf.

 

He stopped, following her gaze. “I still think we should get rid of them. Burn them, perhaps.” 

 

Olivia whipped around to him. “ _ No _ .” 

 

“They’re technically books, Olivia. They have writing in them. We’ll burn all of them at sundown.” 

 

_ All of them?  _

 

“In a bonfire,” he went on. “I’ll make dinner tonight. It’ll be…” he paused, as though he wanted to say romantic, though thought that was a bad idea. “Different. Would you like that, Olivia?” 

 

She had a feeling that agreeing was her only option.

 

When he left, she slumped into her rocking chair, heaving a shaky sigh. Looking to her journals again, she wondered if there was somewhere she could hide them. She didn’t have a suitcase, only her handbag, and there were too many of them to fit inside it. And, come to think of it, her clothes and other things wouldn’t fit inside it, either. 

 

On perhaps their eighth day here, when Jacques had gone for a drive looking for Olaf - Olivia hadn’t followed, her hopes beginning to fade even  _ then  _ \- she’d explored the entire house. Just to familiarise herself with the place, and for something to do. The old woman who owned it clearly had no next of kin - all of her things had stayed here, with no one wanting them. 

 

Olivia had claimed a few things, like a spare comb, a pocketwatch, and a trinket box, to house her two gold bracelets while she cleaned. She treated them all with the utmost care, to ensure no ghosts would come knocking. And she’d ended up fashioning some of her dresses into dresses of her own - after soaking them for hours, just to get rid of their a-random-old-woman’s-worn-these feeling.

 

She could’ve sworn there was a suitcase around here. Which was ironic, really - seeing as most of the Village - Jacques included - didn’t want to leave.

 

It was in the closet, above Olivia’s dresses. She wasted no time pulling it down, half choking on the dust layer on top of it, before setting it on her bed. 

 

Inside was another small box. Larger than her trinket box; this was silver and circular, with a lid, on which two women in old dresses were painted. One had brunette hair, and the other, a sandy-blonde. Making Olivia smile. 

 

And decide, the least she could do was start packing herself up. 

 

So, the suitcase became hers, too. She filled it with a few dresses, hiding her journals beneath them. Then in went her coral blouse and skirt, and the leather outfit Jacques gave her, which were hardly appropriate for wearing around here. The contents of her handbag went up one side. 

 

While she worked, and certainly enjoyed this new kind of work, she ended up trying the music box. It played such an astoundingly gentle, alluring song; one Olivia could hear playing at a ball, while couples slowly waltzed. Like in stories where The Divine Dame was a Divine Duchess instead, and was guiding The Heroine around a hall. Where the entire ball was watching, though The Heroine only saw stars surrounding her and The Duchess.

 

Naturally, Olivia ended up imagining waltzing with Jacquelyn. The smile she wore was heavenly; somehow, Olivia masked the fact that she couldn’t dance. Or, perhaps, Jacquelyn had taught her beforehand. That was always an option.

 

Either way, a dreamy smile came to her lips, and for the first time in a while, Olivia felt much better- 

 

A knock on the front door made her toss the suitcase to the floor, and kick it under her bed. She flew down the stairs, finding the gas station lady waiting for her. 

 

“You’ve got a telegram, I think,” she said. “Is your name Olivia, Mrs Snicket?” 

 

“Yes. Olivia Caliban.” 

 

She said it politely enough. The gas station lady seemed confused, maybe intrigued by her dramas with her “husband”, yet accepted Olivia’s thanks, giving her the telegram. Which Olivia took up to the bedroom. 

 

_ VILLAGE OF FOWL DEVOTEES GAS STATION  _ _  
_ _ ATTN. - OLIVIA CALIBAN  _

 

_ I hope you haven’t been jailed for doing away with Jacques, because that won’t help us at all (STOP). Though trying a jailbreak does sound interesting (STOP). The question is, do you think you’d look nice in a jailbird dress (STOP). And if I’m allowed to say I think you’d look good in anything is another one (STOP). I’m just sending this to say I hope all’s well, and to say I hope to be coming soon, maybe sooner than I expected (STOP). We’ll keep in touch more, if you’re not in jail (STOP). I’m not too sure how to end this one, so I’ll ask, what’s your favourite book at the moment (STOP). Or at least, your top three (STOP). Jacquelyn (STOP).  _

 

Olivia immediately started on a reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the music box Olivia found!!
> 
> https://www.etsy.com/listing/538451966/vintage-1940s-powder-music-box-metal


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've kind of made Jacques the bad guy here and y'all might be mad, but like Lemony does every book/episode, i warned you guys

“That’s all of them?” 

 

“That’s all of them,” Olivia lied. She couldn't look up at him, thus fiddled with a string on her dress, wishing he’d given her more than just a log to sit on. 

 

Jacques tossed a few journals onto the pile of logs, other foliage, and, heartbreakingly, the other journals. Olivia couldn't look at those, either, finding it too painful. 

 

After he lit the fire, saying the Elders knew and approved of this, he sat down beside her. Too close. Olivia shifted. 

 

When he asked her if everything was alright, she kept her gaze to the dirt, taking the easier explanation. “That was someone’s life’s work.” 

 

Her statement was simple. Tart. It was what she’d want someone to say, if she died, and her own journals faced a fire. 

 

“Well, the Elders didn’t mind.” 

 

“I mind.” 

 

“Olivia-” 

 

“What if they were significant to you? What if they belonged to someone you love?” 

 

“I wouldn’t burn them,” he said, after hesitating. 

 

“You hypocrite.” 

 

“I don’t want any trouble with-” 

 

“What if they were mine?” she pressed. Since he’d almost found her suitcase a half an hour ago.

 

“Then I wouldn’t burn them. Not if they were important to you.” 

 

That sounded both hypocritical, and like a complete lie. As far as she was concerned, Jacques didn’t care about her. He only pretended to care, when she seemed down, or sick, considering her cold back in Winter. (He’d tried to fuss over her so much, she’d well and truly snapped, and slapped him.) 

 

She heaved a sigh, now looking to the horizon, where the sun had just sunk. A line of deep orange sat above the dirt in the distance, before a line of a deep pink, and finally the blackest black possible. Stars had started to appear in the sky above them. 

 

The twilight was the only thing Olivia liked about this place. The sky, at this time of evening, was the most magical thing she’d seen in all her life. 

 

She just wished she could watch it with Jacquelyn beside her, instead. 

 

Since he could never  _ shut up _ , Jacques then asked, “What did you get up to today?” 

 

“I cleaned. That’s what I do every day.”

 

“Did you-” 

 

“No. I didn’t ask to join the knitting group. Can we talk about anything else, or even, perhaps, nothing?” 

 

After a pause, he said, “Well, it is a nice night out here. It would be a shame to ruin it.” 

 

She ignored the snideness, now finding herself looking to the small bonfire before them. It was the height of, perhaps, her rocking chair, and was now well alight - a mound of orange. She watched the pages of an open journal ebb away, turning black, then disappearing altogether. With all the words written on them, lost to the flames. Lost forever. 

 

Tears were welling in her eyes, and not just from the heat and smoke. 

 

Jacques was far from the man he disguised himself as. This, right here, just proved it. He was immature. Selfish. Insensitive, as even Jacquelyn had said. He was the kind of man Olivia hated - the arrogant, all-about-me type. Yet, she had to admit, he’d done an almost perfect job of masking that fact. 

 

Olivia shuddered, thinking she had once been slightly attracted to him, Even though said attraction lasted for a mere second, before she’d recoiled at the thought. (How could she be attracted to him, after the “ _ Let’s hope we get lucky in the penthouse”  _ comment that came an hour after meeting her?

 

“Are you cold?” 

 

“No, I’m-” 

 

He came closer; Olivia shifted away, to where she almost fell from the log. He then pulled her up, though she’d never needed his help in the first place. 

 

“I’m fine.” 

 

“It’s fine. Take my jacket.” 

 

Olivia eventually gave it back, insisting he keep it. He then looked away, seeming hurt by its return. Yet he gained no sympathy-

 

Or, any attention, really, when Olivia saw a light on the horizon. 

 

It had to be a vehicle’s light. It was coming from the direction of the City, and seemed to be driving towards the Village, for some reason. Or, by some miracle. 

 

Now, Olivia’s heart began to pound. She decided to wait for a moment, just in case this was all a false alarm, but she ended up too impatient; she got up, wondering if this surge of energy could help her make the journey to it.

 

“What is it, Olivia?” 

 

She had to stay calm enough. “I thought I saw something.” 

 

Now, Jacques got up, and she found him peering into the distance. “I don’t see anything.” 

 

Looking back, she saw it there. It was definitely there. It  _ had  _ to be. 

 

Maybe, Olivia decided, they had stopped; perhaps they’d seen the fire, and thought to turn around. Or maybe they thought themselves lost, and had pulled over for the night. 

 

Or maybe Jacquelyn was waiting to meet her there. 

 

Olivia ended up walking behind the house, looking nowhere else but the light. Her heart’s thumps creeped to her ears, and the energy only greatened. She could see herself making it all the way out there, and finding Jacquelyn, who would leave this vehicle to sweep her off her feet, and help her disappear. 

 

She needed her suitcase. No, she figured she could ask Jacquelyn to come and get it; so she had the chance to see Jacques quickly, too. And tell him, “I’m taking Olivia because you’ve never treated her right. She deserves better”. Before they left him standing on the dirt path between the houses, watching them head into the night. 

 

All she wanted was to yell, “I’m coming, Jacquelyn,” and have her hear her. 

 

“Olivia, what are you doing?” 

 

She ignored him, quickening her pace, wishing she could instantly cross the distance before her. His footsteps thumped on the ground, making her want to turn around, clock him one, and keep going. With him out of her hair, and soon, out of her life.

 

Now all she had to do was keep going. 

 

And as she passed the back of the third house, she thought, goodness, this was quite the journey already.

 

“Olivia?” 

 

Jacques was  _ still  _ following her. She turned, yelling, “Just let me be for a  _ moment _ , will you?!”, before she continued. 

 

“Olivia, I don’t understand-” 

 

“Then too bad!” 

 

At the fourth house, a light turned on. One villager came to their back door, watching the commotion unfolding; then, as Olivia continued, more lights came on. Villagers stepped onto their identical back porches, wondering what the hell the town’s newcomers were doing.

 

“Jacques? What’s she doing now?” the porcelain cat lady asked, quite harshly. 

 

When she passed her house, Olivia simply stated, “What I want, because Jacques doesn’t own me!” 

 

“He’s your husband!” 

 

“Why are you treating your husband like this?” another woman asked. 

 

From behind them came a “Mrs Snicket?” 

 

Now, Olivia ended up snapping. Her excitement morphed into anger; into a rage she just couldn’t -  and, quite frankly, didn’t want - to control. With the entire village wanting in on their business, she stopped, feeling everyone’s eyes on her. 

 

And, god, did Olivia yell. 

 

“Since you’re all out here, I might as well say it: He’s not my husband! I’m not his wife! I’m no Mrs Snicket! I have my own surname, just like I have my own wants, and my own dreams, and my own heart, and if that’s what makes me different from all of you, and makes you hate me, then that’s fine by me! You can be like that! You can be horrible people and make me want to burn this place to the ground!”

 

She heard people gasp. Heard cries of “Well, I  _ never _ !” But she didn’t care. She couldn’t care. Not when she was about to leave.

 

Thus, she hoped this anger and energy and everything consuming her would take her to Jacquelyn, and finally,  _ finally,  _ away from here. 

 

“Olivia, I don’t know where you’re going, but-” 

 

“Leave me alone, Jacques!” 

 

He caught up to her; almost jogging to keep up with her stride. “Can we please talk about this? You’re making a scene.” 

 

“I don’t care. I’ll do what I want.” 

 

“It’s not good, Olivia,” he hissed, coming closer. “I don’t know what they’ll do about this.” 

 

“They can be as mad as they please. They can hate me more than they already do.” 

 

“Olivia?” the gas station lady called from her back porch. “I don’t hate you!” 

 

“Thank you! That’s very kind!” 

 

Grabbing her hand, Jacques then said, “But the others, Olivia.” He managed to stop her. “Now, please, listen to me. I don’t know what you’re up to, and I want to know. Because if it’s something outlandish, something different, it won’t be appreciated around here, and you know it.” 

 

Olivia knew it. But she just couldn’t care anymore. 

 

She looked back to the horizon, to the light- 

 

It was gone.

 

It was  _ gone. _

 

“No,” she found herself murmuring. “No, no, no, no…”

 

The sinking feeling that came was unbearable. A weight heavier than anything she’d known rested on her chest. She couldn’t stop tears, of shock, of horror, springing from her eyes. 

 

She’d frozen all over. Jacques’s hand made for her shoulder, trying to pull her back. 

 

“Come on, Olivia. Come back home.” 

 

_ It wasn’t her home _ ! It never had been, and never would be! Did he not understand that?! 

 

So she broke free from him. He immediately tried to snatch her up; his movements were gentle enough, though Olivia still sensed malice behind them. As she gave a sob she couldn’t fight to suppress, he managed to grab her, and wrap an arm around her. Locking her in. She fought harder, but failed to break free. 

 

“Let me go!” 

 

“It was nothing, Olivia. Come on. Let’s go.” 

 

“Yes. Let’s go. I’m going out there, Jacques.” 

 

He didn’t listen, now dragging her back towards the house. Olivia followed; upon remembering the taxi waiting out the front.

 

And, miraculously, she managed to shake him off, and make for it. 

 

“I’m going out there,” she stated, opening the door, “And you can’t stop me.” Turning the key, she let the engine start up, the sound echoing around the other houses. Maybe loud enough for Jacquelyn to hear, if she  _ was  _ out there. 

 

Stepping closer to the taxi, Jacques pressed, “There’s nothing out there, Olivia, so just-” 

 

“No!” Now, she pulled the knife from the glovebox, pointing it at him. “You  _ can’t stop me _ !” 

 

“You don’t understand-” 

 

“ _ You  _ don’t understand! You don’t understand at all! And you don’t care! All you care about is a mission that was over an age ago! So I’m going out there.” 

 

“ _ Olivia. _ ” He reached forward, to grab her wrist - yelling when she  _ just  _ avoided slicing his hand - then tugged her from the driver’s seat. “Look out there, Olivia. Can you still see what you saw?” 

 

Olivia looked again. And tried, and  _ tried,  _ to find the light. 

 

It was still gone. 

 

And, she accepted it. Jacquelyn wasn’t there. 

 

Jacquelyn was coming, yes, just not now. 

 

The weight on her chest clutched at her throat, making it hard to breathe. She heard Jacques murmur something, but didn’t catch it; all she could hear was the wind, blowing from the light’s direction, whispering to her that nothing was there. 

 

Jacques eventually guided her back inside. After putting out the bonfire, he returned, mentioning a cup of tea. Olivia, in her rocking chair, looking to the horizon, said nothing. Her hands shook; everything she tried wouldn't calm her down.

 

She hardly noticed Jacques placing a teacup in her grasp, and draping a blanket over her shoulders. He murmured something else, but only now did her mind ignore him. Yet she noticed when he placed his hand on top of hers - for obviously negative reasons. 

 

Eventually, he’d made for the chair close to hers (which she'd moved further away, though he’d had no idea). She could see him, from the corner of her eye, sneaking glances at her. Like he was waiting for her to break down crying; as the perfect opportunity to comfort her. Only to win her affection. 

 

Tears had come to her eyes once more, but she told herself,  _ assured  _ herself, she wouldn’t break. She couldn’t give Jacques that kind of, well, satisfaction. 

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

 

“No.” 

 

“It might help you feel better.” 

 

The only thing that would help, aside from Jacquelyn suddenly appearing, was forgetting about it. Trying to move on. Immersing herself in a book would help - she knew that for certain. 

 

So she got up, travelling up the stairs; Jacques immediately followed.

 

Knowing his presence would only make her snap again, she locked the bedroom door on him. 

 

“Olivia, please,” was the first thing she heard. Then, “I’m only trying to help. I want to help. I know something’s making you upset, and I just… I want to be there for you, Olivia.” 

 

Sitting on her bed, Olivia silenced a sigh. Because he  _ still _ thought he had a chance, didn't he?! 

 

“Just give me some time alone.” 

 

“You’re alone all day. If anything, I should be giving you more time with me. I’m sorry I’m treating you this way, Olivia. I’m sorry I came home drunk last night. I know you were afraid of me. And it was wrong of me to do that. I’ve done wrong by you for too long, and I’m… I’m sorry…” 

 

The thump of a closed fist came to the door. Knowing how this story went (though she thankfully hadn’t experienced it), Olivia pictured him feeling the weight of his actions. If he really was as good a man as he pretended to be, he might have started crying- no, if he was as good a man as he pretended to be, he would never have treated her this way. 

 

He would have respected her want to leave. He would have left this Village with her, or he would have set her free. And willingly let her find Jacquelyn’s arms. 

 

Because she had a feeling he wasn’t about to let her leave. 

 

For a moment, Olivia wondered if she was in the wrong, here. Maybe she wasn’t properly communicating with him; perhaps he didn’t know how far she wanted to go. No - No, when she thought about it, she’d told him that Olaf and the Baudelaires weren’t coming, numerous times, and probably  _ had  _ said she wanted to leave. 

 

So Jacques was just as horrible as she’d discovered. 

 

Olivia tried, so hard, to focus on the journal she’d dug from the suitcase. But she could feel Jacques’s presence at the door, sitting there, waiting for her to cave. For her to apologise, and let him take her in his arms. 

 

She shuddered, and concentrated much harder on the words before her. 

 

_ And The Divine Dame looked to The Heroine once more, making a strange shyness hit her; The Heroine ended up giving a small smile, then blushed when The Dame gave her one right back.  _

 

_ “We’ll keep in touch,” The Dame murmured, and gave her hand a squeeze as she passed.  _

  
Yes, Olivia decided. They  _ would  _ keep in touch. 


	7. Seven

_ PRIVATE MACHINE 131972 _

_ ATTN. - JACQUELYN SCIESZKA  _

 

_ I’ve made a fool of myself, in front of Jacques and the entire village, and I suppose this is a crime, but I need to talk to you, Jacquelyn (STOP). It’s nothing urgent, I suppose I just need to hear from you, to know you’re there, and that you’re still coming (STOP). You see, I saw a light on the horizon, and I got my hopes up too high, so I’ll just say I’m quite eagerly awaiting your arrival (STOP). I’m fine, Jacques did try to help though failed to, but I’m fine now (STOP). As for my current favourite book, I haven’t read a book for a year because of Village rules banning them, but before I left I read Passenger To Frankfurt by Agatha Christie (STOP). The whole stepping into the spy world theme summed up what happened with my life, in a way (STOP). And it would be nice if I could start a new chapter (STOP). What books have you read lately (STOP).  _

 

_ This message might be too long, but I’m hoping it reaches you, and that everything’s going well back in the City (STOP). Olivia (STOP.)  _

 

That was the message Olivia drafted, and then sent, at midnight. 

 

The climb back up the house was harder than going down, but she somehow made it. The blankets tied to her bed miraculously stayed together. And as far as she was concerned, Jacques and the entire Village were completely unaware. (And what kind of madman would leave the door to a  _ gas station  _ unlocked?!) 

 

Back in bed, she made sure the suitcase was safe beneath it. And wondered just when she would pull it back out, pack everything else, and be gone. 

 

Maybe tomorrow. 

 

Yes, maybe tomorrow, she decided, before falling asleep. 

 

The next morning, she opened the bedroom door, with Jacques almost landing on her feet - he was asleep, though woke upon almost hitting the floor. Then he was gone, downstairs, mentioning breakfast.

 

“It’s fine,” she said, pushing past him to the fridge, then switching on the toaster. 

 

“I could hear you crying last night.” 

 

More like laughing, when her blankets let her climb down from the bedroom window. Of course, he didn’t need to know that. 

 

He said nothing more during breakfast, before neatening himself upstairs, and leaving for the day. Olivia was glad to see him go - more than ever - and hoped that new big job would keep him out of her hair for several hours.

 

And not even an hour later, when she’d just finished cleaning, the gas station lady was on the doorstep again. 

 

“Another telegram,” she said with a smile. “You really are lucky, receiving all these.” 

 

“Oh, I’m lucky, all right,” Olivia replied, before thanking her. 

 

_ VILLAGE OF FOWL DEVOTEES GAS STATION _ _   
_ _ ATTN. - OLIVIA CALIBAN _

 

_ I’m really sorry about that, Olivia (STOP). Remind me to give you a hug when I get there (STOP). Now I’m finally organised, I’m hoping to be there soon enough (STOP). I’ll follow up with an exact time in a few hours, and I’ll wait for you to send me another telegram, then we’ll go from there (STOP). And then I’ll rescue you, just like you want (STOP).  _

 

_ I haven’t read Passenger To Frankfurt yet, but it sounds interesting (STOP). Agatha Christie does sound like a favourite of yours, and I like mystery novels, too (STOP). When I come to get you, we’ll stop at a library when we arrive in the City (STOP). I have a feeling you’ll like that (STOP). You’ll hear from me in a couple hours, just like I promised (STOP). Don’t lose hope, Olivia (STOP). I’m coming (STOP).  _

 

And Olivia wasted no time replying.

 

_ PRIVATE MACHINE 131972 _

_ ATTN. - JACQUELYN SCIESZKA  _

 

_ Thank you so much, Jacquelyn, it means everything to me (STOP). I’m writing quickly to say I’m waiting for your next telegram, and that yes Passenger To Frankfurt was interesting (STOP). And yes, I would love to accompany you to a library, I’d love that immensely (STOP). And I’m definitely not losing hope, knowing you’re now on your way (STOP).  _

 

“You’re having quite the conversation, aren’t you?” the gas station lady asked. 

 

Looking up, Olivia gave her a smile. “Definitely an uplifting one.” 

 

Possibly too eager to receive that next telegram, Olivia ended up staying in the gas station for a while. It was dirty, and in need of a good clean, like the rest of the town. It scared Olivia to think she could have been the one responsible for cleaning not just it, but the  _ entire  _ Village, like the Elders almost decided. Before Jacques agreed to offer handyman work, when the old handyman vanished, and an Elder said Olivia should be at home, for her “husband”. So that was a kind of bonus. 

When she thought about it, she’d dodged a serious bullet. And, come to think of it, the locals’ harshness to newcomers was probably the reason why no one had settled here for fifteen years. 

 

“I did, when I dropped out of school,” the gas station lady said, in the midst of their brief, quick, often interrupted by customers small talk. “I felt like I needed something that suited the grades I got; that’s why I came here.” 

 

“Everyone deserves more than… this,” Olivia said, looking to the town square, and wanting to shudder. 

 

“I know. I know that now, but I think I’ll just stay here. Nothing happens here. It’s peaceful, like this.” 

 

It had driven Olivia insane since she arrived here. But the gas station lady needn’t know that. As nice as she was, no one around here needed to know how impatient she was to get out of here. 

 

And get out of here hopefully tonight. 

 

She ended up falling asleep for a while, in the gas station’s surprisingly comfortable, only booth. What woke her was the telegram machine at work; she made for it, and watched it print out Jacquelyn’s message. 

 

_ VILLAGE OF FOWL DEVOTEES GAS STATION _ _   
_ _ ATTN. - OLIVIA CALIBAN _

 

_ To a library we’ll go, then (STOP). I can’t wait, myself (STOP). And we’ll finally see each other again at 6:30 this evening, that’s when I should arrive (STOP). Dress warmly, since the night air gets cold, and the heater in this car I’m borrowing doesn’t work (STOP). If it were mine, I’d make it work (STOP). But I suppose the important thing is that no matter what happens, you’ll be rescued, Olivia (STOP). And I’ll stop at nothing to make sure I get to you (STOP). _

 

Olivia could sense the gas station lady watching her, as she smiled. 

 

_ PRIVATE MACHINE 131972 _

_ ATTN. - JACQUELYN SCIESZKA  _

 

_ I don’t know if you know this, but you have such a way with words, Jacquelyn (STOP). 6:30 is perfect, and I’ll certainly be waiting (STOP). We live in the second row of the houses, on the side pointing to the Last Chance General Store (STOP). And I can’t wait, myself, either (STOP).  _

 

“I was right, wasn’t I?” 

 

Looking up to the gas station lady, Olivia said, “You were.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate ship: Olivia x Gas Station Lady? owo lmao
> 
> (in retrospect i should've given this nice lady a name whoops)


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rip Jacques

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZEFiPM1seKk

Olivia packed, as secretly as she could, still tucking the suitcase underneath her bed. Jacques didn’t arrive home for lunch, so she ate without him, before sitting in her rocking chair and looking to the horizon. Practically seeing Jacquelyn arriving now, even when she was six hours early, and coming from the other direction. Her excitement made her forget that.

 

Six more hours. That was all the time she was spending here, before she could kiss this Village goodbye. Or burn it to the ground. Maybe Jacquelyn would be in the mood to give her a hand, had she sent those telegrams with half her soul attached.

 

Said six hours ended up being the longest in her life. 

 

She kept herself entertained by writing another telegram to Jacquelyn. One in which she told her just how she felt, and how much she meant to her - even when she was merely a soul behind a telegram system, who she’d spoken with for a mere few days. It took a good hour or more to get everything down, and halfway in, she realised this message contained nearly all of her soul. In fact, whilst reading over it, she decided it was easily the most beautiful thing she’d written in ages. 

 

Perhaps she would read it to her, one day, or have the courage to memorise it, and tell her herself. When she reached that point, though, there was every chance she would have thought of something much more powerful and romantic to say. Something that would make Jacquelyn’s eyes shine, with adoration and awe, and adjectives beginning with B, C, and D, and so on. 

 

On her bed, the  _ Jacquelyn  _ journal in her lap, Olivia smiled. And pictured her face in the moment they would reunite. 

 

She ended up falling asleep again - that midnight escapade sure had tired her out. What woke her was a brush of her hand, that made her jump, and expect the first person she saw to be none other than- 

 

It was Jacques. 

 

He’d showered, and shaved, and actually dressed himself up, for some strange reason. Maybe the villagers had invited him to a dance, or congregation, or even a meeting to discuss his crazed “wife”. 

 

After a moment of silence fell, he said, “I made dinner.”

 

“You cleaned the kitchen afterwards?” 

 

“It’s spotless.” 

 

He had only made that chicken and leek soup he constantly talked about. Something about it being an old family recipe, or something else she hadn’t listened to. It was edible, at least, but through the whole dinner, she kept thinking about Jacquelyn. And about Jacques pushing her chair in for her.

 

“I have something outside for you,” he then said, when she finished. 

 

Which made her want to laugh. 

 

Oh, if only Jacques knew. She was amazed her face, or her eyes, hadn’t told him,  _ I’m escaping to the City, with Jacquelyn, who I’m falling for. _ Maybe he was too concerned with himself to figure that out. Either way, Olivia  _ would  _ get to laugh in the end. (Did that make her cruel?) 

 

Then, her eyes landed on the clock, and she wanted to do  _ anything  _ but laugh. 

 

Jacquelyn would be here in fifteen minutes. 

 

Trying to stay calm, she asked, “What is it?” 

 

“I’ll show you,” he said, with a smile. He rose, and offered his hand, which she didn’t take. 

 

Out on the back porch was a small wooden crate, painted yellow; flowers of all colours sat in the dirt inside it. 

 

“When those ones die, since they’re just random ones from everyone’s gardens, I’ll plant some seeds for you.” 

 

Now, she wanted to laugh again. Or tell him she would have preferred vegetables. 

 

Instead, she said, “Thank you, Jacques,” while trying to look to the horizon, towards the City. At least he wasn’t facing it, and she could watch it if they stayed out here for longer.

 

“Do you like it?” 

 

“I do, yes. It’s very sweet.” 

 

“Then you’ll like these, too. At least, I hope.” 

 

He reached for a pull cord she’d never noticed before, and the entire porch shone in quite the nice, pale golden glow. Strung around its roof were spherical fairy lights - large balls she could hold in her hand, which the light shone through. 

 

Had he been a complete stranger to Olivia, this could have made Jacques look like the charming man he pretended to be. But it only highlighted his negative aspects.

“I know it’s not much, but it’s what I can do for now. One day, I want to give you more.” 

 

She managed to secretly check her pocketwatch, finding it was now 6:20. And she  _ swore  _ she could see lights on the very brink of the horizon.

 

Jacques was now giving some speech, or soliloquy, or maybe a poem; her heart was beating in her ears once more, blocking out everything he said. She didn’t want to listen, and thus, looked right through him, spacing out. And giving her attention to the horizon. 

 

6:25 came faster than she expected. Now she was at the very end of her waiting game, she figured time would speed up, and spring 6:30 on her just like  _ that _ . 

 

“Half the time, I don’t know what to say, Olivia. And I want to say more to you than I already do. Just like I want to spend more time with you, and give you more of me, in a way. To make up for the way I’ve been treating you lately. It hasn’t been fair on my part. But I promise I’ll make everything better.” 

 

6:27. 

 

Jacques finally paused, and she took the chance to jump in- “That’s all well and good, Jacques, but-” she thought of something as quickly as she could - “You missed a spot. When you shaved. Here.” 

 

When her thumb pressed at a random patch of his skin, he ended up smiling. Wide, and with much more happiness than Olivia had expected. It was like he’d been waiting for her to, she didn’t know, grasp him lovingly, and then- 

 

She saw what  _ had  _ to be lights on the horizon. 

 

“Don’t you want to go and fix that? Before you forget about it? You don’t want the villagers to notice in the morning.” 

 

“It can wait. Now, I just want to be here. It’s a beautiful evening, isn’t it?” 

 

“Beautiful,” she agreed, as her watch hit 6:29, and the headlights passed between the rows of houses. 

 

“But not as beautiful as-” 

 

“Can it just wait, for a moment, Jacques?” she then asked, deciding now was the time to break away- 

 

Jacques gripped her arm, and made her stay, staring to her for far too long. Then, like an idiot, he stammered, “Olivia... I…” 

 

Then she heard an engine stop, and a door open, and someone yell, “Olivia?” 

_ Jacquelyn.  _

 

Olivia broke free, and ran down the stairs faster than she ran up them, her suitcase in her hand. And she shoved open the front door, finding Jacquelyn, oh,  _ Jacquelyn,  _ standing there, in a leather jacket and a relieved smile- 

 

The relief overwhelming her brought her running into Jacquelyn’s embrace. And, by some miracle, Jacquelyn held her just as tight - tighter than she’d made out in that telegram. She couldn’t hold back the tears that instantly started to flow, but Jacquelyn was there, running her fingers through her hair, whispering that everything was alright. 

 

Olivia then pulled away,  _ slightly _ , and murmured, “Jacquelyn, you… you came! You’re here! I’m-I’m rescued, and I don’t know what to do, and… Jacquelyn!” 

 

Chuckling, with tears in her own eyes, Jacquelyn murmured, “Just breathe, okay? Breathe, Olivia. You’re okay. It’s okay. I’m here.” 

 

‘You’re here.” 

 

“I am.” 

 

“Olivia?  _ Jacquelyn? _ ” 

 

Olivia turned, finding Jacques on the front porch, looking ready to fall to his knees. In astonishment, or horror, she didn’t know. Or care, really. 

 

Everyone was silent for a moment, before Jacquelyn quite tartly said, “Yes, Snicket?”

 

“How… How are you here?” 

 

“I telegrammed Jacquelyn,” Olivia quickly explained. And that was all the explanation he needed. And deserved. 

 

Jacquelyn then took her suitcase from her, placing it inside her borrowed black car. Olivia made for the passenger door, quite charmed by Jacquelyn opening it, before Jacques stumbled down the porch steps. 

 

“But, Olivia, I got you this.” 

 

He held out a small box, which his trembling fingers opened, before he fell down to one knee. Inside sat an old, somewhat battered wedding ring. 

 

Olivia’s heart stopped for a moment. Once again, she didn’t know what to do. From behind her, she heard Jacquelyn scoff, “Are you  _ serious _ , Snicket?” 

 

“I know it’s not much,” he managed to say, “Just like everything else. But I’ll get you a better one. I’ll try harder. I’ll be a better man. Just, please, Olivia, I… I love you.” 

 

“You don’t love her enough,” Jacquelyn retorted. 

 

Olivia stayed silent, and looked Jacques in the eyes, deciding just what she should say. And surprised herself, when she realised she hadn’t decided how to say goodbye.

 

Then, when a nearby door opened, it clicked. 

 

“I’m sorry, Jacques, but I could never be your wife. I’m not a Mrs Snicket - I never have been, and I never will be, if I can help it. And I suggest you accept that.” 

 

He stared at her, nothing but shock across his face. In the light from the car’s headlights, tears formed in his eyes.

 

Stepping forward, Jacquelyn stated, “You better accept that. Or you know what’ll happen.” She then made to, somewhat shyly, grasp Olivia’s hand - she let her have it. 

 

“I hope everything works out, Jacques,” was what she then said. “And that you’re rescued, too.”

 

And she couldn’t help but mean that. 

 

Then she finally followed Jacquelyn to the car. Inside, Jacquelyn offered her a blanket, draping it around her shoulders; then, out of nowhere, she offered her a thermos of tea. Olivia took it, nothing but grateful, then snuck a look to the man who could only dream of her falling for him like this. In the way she was  _ still  _ falling for Jacquelyn.

 

Though she didn’t want to, she found herself watching Jacques as Jacquelyn turned the car around. Then, Jacquelyn blocked her view of him, though she couldn’t care; when Jacquelyn guided the car between the sets of houses, the rear view mirror showed him standing on the dirt path, watching them head into the night.

 

“The things I could tell you about him,” Jacquelyn murmured. 

 

“So he’s always been disguised like that?” 

 

She nodded. “He hides his flaws well. You’re not the first woman he’s deceived.” 

 

“And made live with him for a year while he chased vanished villains?” 

 

“Not that far, but close. But what matters now is that villain’s gone, okay? And so is Jacques. You’ve been well and truly rescued, Olivia.” 

 

Feeling herself smile, Olivia nodded. “I know.” 

 

Now, Jacquelyn smiled. After her hand finished changing gears, it lingered towards Olivia’s - for support, more than anything, she imagined. And she didn’t mind at all; she summoned the courage to take it. She recognised Jacquelyn’s watch she’d worn, that time ago. 

 

“Jacquelyn?” 

 

“Yes?” 

 

“Had I not been so impatient at the bank, and stayed a moment, do you think that this would have ended entirely differently?” 

 

“It would have. I know it.” 

 

“That’s good. I’m fine with that.” 

 

As they reached the outskirts of the Village, indicated by a faded old billboard, Jacquelyn then asked, “Are you still ready to visit a library when we return?” 

 

“I certainly am. Do you have a match, and a lighter?” 

 

It wasn’t in the middle of their house, or the middle of the Village, like she’d kind of wanted. And she wouldn’t witness the carnage it would leave, and relish in the comfort such a fire could give. But Olivia threw the burning match from the car anyway. She considered it her last goodbye - to a town she’d ignore on every map she came across, to a mission that had ended an age ago, to a man she wouldn’t mind never seeing again. 

 

For today marked the beginning of a new year. Hopefully, with Jacquelyn by her side, for its entirety. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cried a few happy tears when i finished this!! and i hope y'all liked it!!!


End file.
